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swallow me down raw, like you mean it

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The lace is soft, and Derek holds the piece of fabric delicately, closing his eyes and feeling the texture on his skin. He imagines the friction if he was wearing it, how it might feel—

“Can I help you find anything?”

The employee who greeted him when he walked into the store is raising her eyebrows at him, smiling slightly.

Derek drops the panties back into the display case, where it joins the rest of its colorful lacy neighbors. He thought they’d be pretty busy— the store is on a popular street corner in downtown New York, and there are a ton of other people here.

Just not in the lingerie section. Right now. Where Derek is alone, and has been caught holding ladies’ underwear.

“I— uh— just— shopping for, um— I have to go.”

He shuffles backwards and nearly knocks into the woman, who says brightly, “Okay, well my name is Erica and if you need any help I will be right here!”

Derek’s face flushes with embarrassment, and he’s too focused on his own mortification to realize he’s run into something solid, crashing into the floor.

Make that a someone.

Great. A person, and the entire display case of panties. Lacy pieces flutter down around them in a rainbow of hues. And there’s an extremely cute guy underneath Derek, blinking at him curiously.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry,” Derek blurts out, pushing himself off the stranger and standing up.

“It is totally okay,” the guy says, winking at Derek. He takes Derek’s hand and allows Derek to help him up, his long pale fingers smooth and cool, despite the summer heat.

Derek stares at him for a good second, taking in the warm brown eyes and the moles generously dancing down his cheek.

“You have… uh…”

The guy picks something off Derek’s head and hands it to him.

It’s the bright pink lace pair that Derek was holding to begin with. The one that he wanted.

“I have to go,” Derek hears himself mutter, and races out the door.



Derek waits exactly four days before going back to the store. It’s not like he can just… buy this kind of underwear online. He shares an apartment with his sisters and he can't take the chance that one of them might open his package by mistake. 

The same woman— Erica— greets him at the door again, blonde curls bouncing as she nods hello to Derek, a glint of recognition in her eyes.

Derek lingers in the men’s section for awhile, casually browsing through t-shirts until he sees everyone clear out of the lingerie section.


[nsfw image ahead, click to skip]











[Image description: A model shrugging off a pair of pants to reveal a bright yellow pair of panties and a sexy tilt of ass]



There’s a poster displayed prominently above a display, the text reading “GET CHEEKY” and a model shrugging off a pair of pants to reveal a bright yellow pair of panties and a sexy tilt of ass. Derek wishes he had the confidence to do that, just wear what he wants under his clothes.

He can do it. He just has to pick the pair he wants, get to the cash register… face down the store employee who has to ring him up…

The lingerie section is empty.

Maybe Derek will just go look longingly at the panties again.

There’s a jaunty pop tune playing the background, but the rest of this area is silent, devoid of other customers and employees, and Derek feels completely at peace. He finds the pink pair again, picks out one in his size, and holds it.

“Hey, you’re back.”

Derek whirls around. It’s the guy he ran into the other day, leaning casually against the poster.

“Erica said I scared you away because I was a klutz, but—”

“I ran into you.”

“Yes! That.” The guy grins at him, eyes glittering warmly with amusement.

“I’m… sorry?”


“What?” Derek blinks and looks up at the different signs that announce various styles in the lingerie section.

“My name. It’s Stiles.” Stiles holds out his hand to Derek.

It’s an automatic reflex, to reach out and shake the hand, only Derek is still holding the panties. He realizes this too late when the fabric gets smushed between their hands, and Derek freezes.

“I’m Derek, um—”

“Oh! I was gonna mention this last time, but you totally ran away. But, um, if you’re interested, there are panties over there by Raw, designed for people with junk. Like the cut is different, and it’s a lot more comfortable if you’re going to be wearing them for a longer amount of time.” Stiles points towards a corner of the lingerie section and smiles hopefully at him.

Derek can feel all the blood rush to his face as Stiles lets go of his hand, gestures at the panties still in his hand, and just keeps talking, like this is a totally normal conversation.

“I mean, those are a pretty solid choice right there, it’s a shame Raw hasn’t made that style available yet. I have these in red—I can’t really pull off the pink, but you’ve got these great olive undertones in your skin that I’m sure would just make the color just pop.” Stiles mimics an explosion with his fingers, his whole body vibrating with excitement.

Derek isn’t quite sure what to do, but he can’t look away from the way Stiles’ mouth moves while he talks, and then Stiles’ shirt rides up a little with a particular wild gesture, revealing an expanse of pale skin. The comment I have these in red reverberates in his mind, and now Derek is frozen, imagining the man before him clad in nothing but a pair of lacy red panties.

“I’m guessing you’re a panties virgin? I know I shouldn’t assume, but you kind of have that look, the wide-eyed I want to try everything and don’t know where to start look, and it’s definitely not the same look people have when they shop for someone else.”

Derek bites his lip, setting down the panties and looks nervously at his feet. He’s never talked to anyone before about his… thing, and Stiles just seems to ooze confidence, telling a complete stranger all about his underwear habits.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I mean, I know how you feel, like it’s really difficult especially like, the first time, and it’s a very personal thing. Damn, Erica’s always telling me I have no filter. My mouth gets me in fucking trouble all the time.” Stiles licks his lips a little and ducks his head sheepishly.

“It’s okay. You’re right. I haven’t actually bought any for myself before… and I want to,” Derek says quietly. It feels good to say it, and the feeling doubles when Stiles’ face lights up.

In the far end of the store, he sees Erica at the cash register, ringing people up, and his ears burn with embarrassment just thinking about showing up with the panties and having people see him pay for them.

“Here, I’ll make it up to you for putting you on the spot. I get these for you and meet you at the coffeeshop at the corner and give them to you in a discreet bag or something, that way you don’t have to—”

“You don’t have to buy them,” Derek says awkwardly, but Stiles is already picking up the pair of panties.

“Dude, no. I get an employee discount, meaning free, don’t worry about it.”

“Oh. You work here?” Derek glances at Stiles’ outfit: a bright plaid shirt layered over a t-shirt that says “STOP WARS” in the Star Wars font, and a pair of ripped jeans. The other employees he can see at the cash register and the few walking around are wearing all black semi-professional clothes.

“Well, not like, in the official capacity. I’m a model.” Stiles winks at Derek and jerks his head towards the Raw corner he pointed out earlier. “I’ll catch you at the coffee place in a few minutes!”

And then he saunters off to the cash register, ass shaking a little, and Derek does a double take. He blinks at the large poster again, the one with the yellow panties, and then back at Stiles, and swallows nervously.

Driven by curiosity, Derek walks over to the Raw display. There are a few shelves with different styles and sizes of panties, and there’s a catalogue. He reads the introduction about the company and their goal to design lingerie with comfortable cuts, and then starts flipping through the photos.

[nsfw images ahead, click to skip]












[Images description: He finds two more photos of Stiles; one of him in a lacy white number, ass tilted up, wearing garters and stockings, and another of him in black silk.]



There are quite a few models, but the moles on Stiles’ back and even lower are very recognizable. He finds two more photos of Stiles; one of him in a lacy white number, ass tilted up, wearing garters and stockings, and another of him in black silk.

That one is transparent.

Derek sets the catalogue down and adjusts himself. He hides in the sock section for a minute until he realizes Stiles is probably waiting for him, but then his mind helpfully provides an image of Stiles waiting for him in his bed, wearing nothing but a smile and something red and lacy, and then he has to wait until he’s no longer straining in his jeans.

Derek makes it to the coffee shop without any further incident.

Stiles is at a table already, with two drinks and a blank shopping bag on the table.

“Hey! Got you this coffee.” Stiles nudges a cup and the bag towards Derek.

“Oh. You really didn’t have to…” Derek stands awkwardly, hovering, wondering what the etiquette is for interacting with someone who just bought him panties because he was too embarrassed to get them himself.

“I wanted to,” Stiles says, grinning up at him.

Derek takes a seat, looking surreptitiously around at the busy coffee shop. He gingerly takes the bag and sets it by his feet, and everyone is ignoring them, unlike the shocked gasps and finger pointing Derek’s imagined.

“And the coffee? It’s black. Come on, sit down, tell me about yourself.”

Derek takes the cup and looks hesitantly at the inky black liquid inside. Outside the lingerie section, they could be any other two people just having coffee together, and Stiles’ warm smile is inviting and open.

This could be something, if he doesn’t mess it up. Derek searches for something interesting to say— family anecdotes are always a good place to  start out with, right? “My sister always says I have the kind of face that looks like I take my coffee black, but I really have a sweet tooth. Like, something like that is right up my alley.” He gestures at the whipped-cream-caramel-iced-coffee confection that Stiles is slurping up.

Stiles laughs. “Well, didn’t know how you liked it, that’s why I got it black. You can just have mine, if you like.”

He hands his cup to Derek. Their fingers brush, and Derek feels unexpectedly warm. He takes an appreciative sip from the drink, feels the rush of ice cold sweetness run down his throat, and shudders a little, thinking about indirect kisses.

Derek really has to pull himself together. “Uh, thank you for the— getting those for me. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem, dude. Always up for helping someone fulfil their quest.”

The radio playing overhead switches to a catchy pop song, and Derek grimaces. It’s been Cora’s new favorite, and she’s been playing it nonstop.

Stiles makes an identical face, and they both blink at each other and laugh. And then it’s easy— the awkward tension gives way, and Stiles immediately launches into a rant about the song and they commiserate over radios overplaying songs, which moves into a conversation about favorite types of music, and then Derek’s job. Stiles listens raptly as Derek talks about the non-profit he works at, mentoring at-risk teens.

“Wow, that’s awesome, and you’ve been doing that for a few years? I mean, most people who I know in the non-profit biz get emotionally burnt out after a few months of volunteering.”

Derek shrugs. He doesn’t technically have to work. He and his sisters are sitting on a sizable trust fund from their parent’s estate but he enjoys it, likes keeping busy, helping people. He knows most of the company he grew up with— the children of his parents’ business associates, the friends he made in prep school and in college— quite a few of them are happy to just be and fritter away their lives golfing and going off to the Hamptons every weekend and sailing in their yachts.

“My older sister Laura started the foundation, after our parents died. They were great philanthropists, always donating to schools and scholarships and stuff, but we wanted to be more involved, dedicated to their memory. We offer hang out spaces, movie nights, afterschool tutoring, college prep, peer counseling. Lots of stuff. Laura does all the admin and fundraising stuff. My little sister Cora leads a lot of the hiking trips and backpacking up in the Catskills, and I mostly tutor at the center and lead some of the outings in the city.” Derek’s surprised Stiles is still paying attention; usually people’s eyes glaze over when he starts talking about his work.

“Amazing. I mean, I have no idea what I want to do.” Stiles leans forward, propping his chin in his hands. “I just graduated a few months ago, got my B.A. in psych and I kinda wanted to go to grad school but couldn’t decide on a program. And then I started this modeling gig, you know, like I still can’t believe I get paid for wearing sexy underwear, but I really like the philosophy of Raw. For an underwear company, they do a lot to support the LGBTQIA+ community, and not just about like fighting stereotypes by encouraging everyone to go for the kind of underwear they want. Like, there’s an entire line for trans men, which is pretty awesome.”

Derek nods, agreeing, and he lets Stiles talk, watching how animated he is, the way his eyes light up and how he gestures wildly. They share the one iced coffee between them, and then Stiles orders another round— he refuses to let Derek pay for it, says Derek can get it next time. The words echo hopefully in Derek’s head, and all he can think is Stiles wants to see me again.

This time it’s a blended mocha frappuccino with caramel syrup cascading down fluffy mounds of whipped cream. Derek drinks his slowly, unable to tear his eyes away from the way Stiles licks at the whipped cream on his drink, pink tongue lapping at the white froth, slowly and salaciously swirling around his lips.

Stiles moans, an indulgent sound that goes right to Derek’s cock.

Derek would be happy to spend forever in Stiles’ company; when he isn’t making ridiculous innuendo or fellating his straw, he’s smart and fun, and Derek— Derek needs to get his number. Plan an actual date, or something. With intention. After all, this coffee outing is like, just a random happenstance, right? It doesn’t count.

Derek’s working himself up to asking the question. There’s an opportune moment when Stiles looks up at him, a natural lull in the conversation (and Stiles is out of whipped cream, thank God) and their eyes meet. Stiles leans closer, and Derek is drawn in his gaze, ready to ask—

Stiles leaps up from the table suddenly, flicking at his phone, regret pulling at his handsome features. “I am so sorry! I totally forgot I have a photoshoot, like, right now! I need to run, but this was awesome! I’ll see you later!”

And then Stiles rushes out the door, leaving Derek sitting alone at the table with the question still on his lips.



Derek thinks about Stiles more often than he should over the next week. Somehow Laura’s got it in her head that he’s “met someone,” and Derek tries to tell her he just had one coffee with this amazing guy who had to rush off before Derek could get his number.

“When can you see him again?”

“I don’t know, Lars,” Derek says. “It wasn’t even a date— I just—”

“But you so rarely crush on people, this is so cute! You have to see him again.”

The Raw website has only information on their products and associated charities. No information is available for the models, not that Derek would actually email the company with such a personal question. He scoffs, thinking about composing an email to the general … like… hello, I just met your model Stiles and I think I will regret it forever if I never see him again?

At least he has the panties.

[nsfw images ahead, click to skip]











[Image description: Derek in pink panties.]



Derek puts them on in the comfort of his bedroom, admiring the fit in the mirror. He drags his fingers over his hips, revelling in the sensation of the delicate lace, at how the pink stands out on his skin. Stiles had been right about the color popping. He looks good, he feels good, sexy and confident with the underwear.

He wears them under his jeans once, on one of those boring business afternoons when Laura sends him out to woo sponsors for donations to their foundation. Usually Derek hates the meetings, feels like they drag on forever, but with the panties, he’s got a thrilling secret under his clothes and a buzzing low-grade arousal persists throughout the meetings.

Derek gets home that night and comes harder than he ever has his entire life. He thinks about his corporate office, about Stiles pinning him to his desk, scattering paperwork everywhere, yanking off Derek’s suit until he’s only wearing the lace panties, and then Stiles fucks him fully clothed, pushing the pink scrap of fabric aside just enough for him to thrust inside, giving it hard and rough to Derek until he comes all over the paperwork.

Derek closes his eyes, catching his breath, imagining tracing the curve of Stiles’ jaw, hearing the sound of his voice saying Derek, in a low, husky voice.

He’s so fucked.



The lingerie section isn’t empty, but Derek finds he doesn’t mind this time. He walks right up to the Raw display and picks out a pair of black satin panties as well as matching stockings and a garter belt. He’s excited to try it out, especially the relaxed fit. He goes through the offered selection, making a mental note of the styles available and those he’d like to see. Derek likes his pink panties very much, but there isn’t a lot of room in them. He wants to see if he can wear the panties the whole day, and he wants to be comfortable.

There’s also a fetching sky blue lace number that’s very cute, and Derek picks that one up too. He’s quite proud of himself by the time he gets to the cash register, and none of the other customers or employees make a fuss at all about his purchase. It’s so much easier than he expected.

Erica winks at him as she wraps up each item in tissue paper and places them in a bag for him. Derek pulls out his wallet as she punches away at her keyboard, stopping every now and then to grin at Derek. She must be just proud of him too, Derek thinks.

“Alright, Derek, you’re good to go! Can I say, I am just so happy for you both. Stiles can’t seem to stop talking about you—”

“Wait, what?” Derek’s brain catches on Stiles, and then he also does a double take on the cash register display.

It reads $0.00.

“I think there’s a mistake.” Derek points at the screen.

“Oh, friends and family discount. And significant others, of course,” Erica says, chuckling a little. “Stiles wasn’t getting that pink pair for himself, boy’s got a fine bubble butt but his ass isn’t that size at all. You on the other hand— that would fit you to a tee. You two are so cute, you know, shopping together. Take care! Tell Stiles I said hello and smack his ass for me, will you?”

The bag is pushed towards Derek, and Erica calls out, “Next!”

Derek is stunned, but the woman behind him is carrying an armful of clothes and lingerie and tapping her foot impatiently, so he finds himself leaving the department store with a new bag of lingerie that he somehow got for free. Because Erica thought he was dating Stiles.

Derek doesn’t even have his phone number.



The coffeeshop and the department store are the only places Derek can think where he might possibly bump into Stiles. He lingers at both, but he can only drink so much coffee or do so much shopping. He’s got a sizable panties collection now, including garters and stockings in multiple colors and textures. Each time Erica refuses to take his money; Derek starts to feel guilty about it, so he surreptitiously stuffs a wad of hundreds in a tip jar when Erica isn’t looking. (He’s pretty sure it wasn’t a tip jar, just a jar to hold pens, because department stores don’t have tip jars, but Derek did it anyways, because he really wanted to.)

He feels more guilty about the false pretenses, though.

The next time Derek’s at the store he spots a huge poster by the Raw display, proclaiming a fashion show to celebrate the new collection. Derek reads through the models’ names announced for the show, heart skipping a beat when he sees Stiles’ name on the poster. He feels excited and relieved all at once; he can see Stiles again.

Derek’s caught the show announcement just in time; it’s tomorrow. He takes note of the venue and time, rearranges his work schedule so he can make it early.


The day of the show Derek is nervous; he changes his outfit three times before finally settling on a red henley and jeans. Casual, not trying too hard. Perfect.

Unfortunately Cora calls him from the center; one of the trip leaders cancelled and he needs to take a group on a tour of Central Park. Derek groans but figures if he can rush through a quick morning trip he can still make it just before the show.

The group is rowdy but enthusiastic, and any other day Derek would be enjoying time to spend with his mentees, but every minute ticks by slowly. He finally finishes the tour by buying ice cream for everyone and then drives them back to the center.

Derek waves goodbye to all the kids and then takes Laura’s Camaro, racing downtown. He makes it just in time, throwing the keys to the valet and dashing into the venue.

The crowd is whispering anxiously; apparently the show hasn’t started yet. Derek looks around, wondering whether he should find a seat or if he has a moment to look backstage. Would Stiles want to be bothered before the show? Probably not.

Derek finds a seat on the left, with a good view of the stage and the runway. He watches the curtain with anticipation, listening to the chatter of the crowd around him.

One of the curtains parts slightly and Stiles’ head peeks out at the crowd, his face drawn with tight unhappiness.

Derek glances up, heart leaping into his throat. Stiles glances around at the crowd, and then his eyes meet Derek’s for a second.

Derek lifts a hand up slightly and waves hopefully.

He’s not expecting Stiles’ reaction. At all.

Stiles’ face breaks into a bright, ecstatic smile, all the previous tension slipping away. “Derek!” he calls out, waving his arms as he stumbles out of the curtains.

Heads are turning and there are whispers of “Is the show starting now?” and “Oh, it’s Stiles!” Cameras flash. Stiles is wearing a red satin short robe, tied loosely around the waist, thighs bare as he walks forward. The robe is slipping with every step, revealing a pale shoulder, gleaming in the stage’s spotlight.

“Hi, Stiles,” Derek says, unable to stop smiling as Stiles approaches his seat.

Stiles throws himself into Derek’s arms, flinging his arms around Derek’s neck. “Oh my God, I am so happy you are here, you need to come backstage with me right now—” and then Stiles grabs Derek by the hand and is leading him into the staging area. He’s talking a mile a minute, about designers and the collection and a stylist that didn’t turn up, and someone got a tattoo on their ass that is now infected and they can’t do the show. Derek doesn’t really catch most of what Stiles is saying, all he knows is that Stiles’ hand is in his, and their fingers are interlaced together.

Derek realizes they’re in a small dressing room of some sort; there are a few makeshift photographs of Stiles and other models with different makeup looks taped to the mirror, as well as a hanging rack filled with various outfits.

“So what do you think?”

“What?” Derek has no idea what is happening, except Stiles is holding his hand, wearing nothing but a flimsy red robe sliding off his shoulders.

Stiles whirls around, gesturing at the rack of clothes— and the robe is really short, flaring up with the movement, exposing the bare curves of Stiles’ ass.

Derek has seen it before, in photos. That was different though, that was when he was at least wearing something, now he’s— now he’s bending over, ass in the air, rooting around in a box of clothes on the floor.

Derek feels lightheaded. He should look away— he’s going to do that— right— now—

Fuck. There are moles on his ass.

“I mean, the show? Do you think you can help? I just have a feeling you’ll look really amazing in these, I mean, Miguel is probably your size. You would be a lifesaver if you could.” Stiles turns around and looks at up, eyes beseeching and wide.

“I— what?” Derek is still trying to follow what is happening.

“Miguel dropped out of the show, like, twenty minutes ago, and it really fucked us over, and then Erica said this funny thing like I should ask my boyfriend because he’s got a great ass and I said what boyfriend—”

Derek can feel a blush start in his cheeks. “I’ve been meaning to try and correct her, but she wouldn’t stop giving me the stuff for free, and she thought we were— I’m sorry—”

Stiles waves the apology away. “Dude. Ever since that day in the coffee shop I’ve regretted not getting your number to see you again. Like, we really had a connection, you know? Not just about the panties.”

Derek nods. “I really— I really like you. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

Stiles grins, and leans forward, just as someone shouts and rattles the door from outside.

“Five minutes to show, with or without Miguel, Bilinski!” yells a hoarse voice.

“Got it, Finstock!” Stiles shouts back.

Stiles looks up at Derek. He’s so close Derek can see the amber shade of his eyes darken as Stiles steps closer, giving Derek a considering look. “Please? Help with the show. I’ll talk to Finstock, you can have anything from Raw— a modelling contract, free lingerie, whatever you want.”

“I just— I just wanted your phone number,” Derek says honestly. “I don’t care about modelling or free stuff or anything— I just came here because you’d be here, and I wanted to see you again. And I wanted to ask you out, on a real date.”

“Done and done,” Stiles says breathlessly. “I would have gone out with you anyways, even if you didn’t want to do the show.”

Derek feels a pleased contentment rush through his body, and when Stiles takes his hand and squeezes it, he can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be.

“Fuck. Okay. So you’re taking Miguel’s place, this is his box, I’ll help you get in the first set. You’ll need to strip.” Stiles pulls something black and silky out of the box and hands it to Derek.

“Strip here—”

“We don’t have time, it’s easier if I help because, uh, this piece has wings? Do you want me to get someone else?”

“No, it’s fine,” Derek says, hoping his face isn’t entirely red. He shrugs out of his shirt, and then unzips his jeans and steps out of them, keenly aware of Stiles’ presence in the room. The black panties feel nice in his hand, and he supposes they’ll feel good on him as well.

He looks up and Stiles’ robe is on the floor, Stiles is standing there naked, the lines of muscle in his back rippling as he pulls up a scrap of white lace past his thighs. The panties slide over Stiles’ hips ever so slowly, hugging the curve of his ass.

Derek’s throat goes dry, and then Stiles turns around, and Derek is confronted with a huge cock straining the front of the panties. And he can’t help it, but he stares.

Stiles’ cheeks pink, and he cups himself apprehensively. “I’m sorry, um, usually no one sees me until like, if I’m about to do the do, like they’ve only ever photographed my ass so there’s no way you could have known, but um, if this is a problem—”

“No. No problem. I— I like it. A lot.” Fuck, Derek wants to put it in his mouth right now.

“Oh,” Stiles says, pleased, and his gaze flicks downward to Derek’s own cock standing at attention. “I, um. We’re moving about this all backwards, aren’t we?”

Derek laughs. “Maybe not.” He pulls his panties on, the silk sliding with delicious friction, and they fit snugly on him. The silk on his cock makes all the nerves in his body sing alight in anticipation.

Stiles hands him a pair of stockings and a garter belt; Derek rolls on each stocking diligently, and then the garter belt. He tries to snap the garters to the stockings, but his nerves cause him to fumble the thin strip of satin.

“Here, let me.” Stiles takes it and deftly fastens it to the stocking, does all the others, and then runs a finger underneath the strap, snapping it slightly. It bounces against Derek’s thigh with a soft twack and Derek looks up.

“Fuck.” It’s a curse and an exhale, and Derek’s not sure if it’s Stiles’ fingers on his thighs or the other bracing hand on his hip, heat emanating from Stiles’ hand through the lace, fingers just a breath away from cupping his ass.

Derek wants.

Stiles looks up. “This okay?”

Derek barely manages to whisper, “Yes.”

Stiles drags his fingertips from Derek’s thighs up to his hips. Past his navel. Up his torso. He thumbs past one of Derek’s nipples, and Derek groans. He’s been thinking about Stiles for so long, and now that Stiles is here and touching him, but just barely, a hand hesitantly hovering over Derek’s chest, waiting.

“Can I kiss you?” Derek asks.

Stiles smile broadens, and he nods.

Derek catches him by the chin and kisses him. Stiles sighs into it, his entire body relaxing into the touch, and his lips are sweet and warm.

Derek only meant for a quick kiss, a promise for more in the future, because they have things to do, but then Stiles surges forward, kissing him hungrily, sweeping his tongue into Derek’s mouth, hot and insistent. Derek stumbles backwards into the dresser, Stiles pressing up between his legs.

Their cocks brush together, silk and lace meeting in sweet sensation, and Derek is lost to it all— Stiles’ bare skin rubbing up against his own, the sound of fabric rustling, Stiles standing between his thighs, tongue teasing at his own.

“Stiles—” Derek gets out between kisses, but the name is swallowed by Stiles’ mouth again, and Derek can’t help returning the kiss just as enthusiastically.

Stiles moans, and then one of his hands is on the waistband of Derek’s panties—

The door flings open. “Bilinski! We’ve already gotten started! You and Miguel are up after this set, get those fucking wings on, now!”

The man in the doorway glares at them and then stalks off.

Stiles reluctantly pulls away and gives Derek a sheepish smile.

Derek barely remembers Stiles putting on a leather harness on him, with fluffy raven dark feathered wings that flutter when he walk. There are heels too, that he struggles to walk in, but he manages. Stiles is resplendent in cream colored wings to match his panties, and then they’re being hassled over by makeup and hair, and then shoved towards the stage. The lights are hot and the crowds cheer, cameras flash repeatedly.

The entire show passes by in a daze. There are three different outfits. They stop putting Derek in heels after his awkwardness in the first outfit, so he walks down the runway barefoot, in nothing but the panties.

The last one has a heart-shaped cutout in the back. It’s pink, like the very first pair Stiles helped get for Derek, and as Derek takes the stage, hearing the crowd roar. He turns around and sees Stiles standing in the stage wings, smiling proudly.

And then all the models are paraded on the stage, there’s one last bow, and then, and then—

They’re back in Stiles’ dressing room. Stiles pulls him inside and the first thing Derek does is press him up against the closed door, kissing him ardently.

Stiles groans, grabbing Derek by the ass and pulling close against him, their hips meeting as they grind against the door. There’s so much sensation Derek doesn’t know what to focus on; the softness of Stiles’ lips, how hot the inside of his mouth is, Stiles’ cock rutting against his own, Stiles’ fingers tracing the cutout on the back of Derek’s panties.

“Derek,” Stiles gasps, when Derek moves to lick at the hollow of his throat, long and pale. He connects the line of moles with his tongue, and finds more, light marks scattered across Stiles’ bare torso. Derek drops to his knees, nosing at Stiles’ cock through his black lace panties. He licks a long line at Stiles’ shaft, memorizing the novel way the lace feels on his tongue, Stiles hot and throbbing underneath it.

“Wait, I don’t want to come just yet— fuck, I wanna look at you, turn around—”

Stiles drags Derek to his feet and tries to move him towards the dressing room table, but they end up tumbling to the floor, Derek on his back, Stiles’ cock tantalizingly right above him. It makes sense to just go for it again. Derek just grabs the waist of the panties and drags it down just enough to free the head and suck it into his mouth. He’s rewarded with a throaty gasp of pleasure from Stiles above him.

“Fuck you, I want to— you— your ass looks so good in these panties, fuck—” Stiles pulls Derek’s thighs up, trapping them between them, and now Derek’s ass is exposed to the air again. Stiles leans forward, grabbing Derek by the thighs and pinning him down, and then there’s a hot breath on the open cut of the panties on Derek’s hole.

“Stiles—” Derek gasps.

[nsfw images ahead, click to skip]











[Image description: Stiles rimming Derek on the floor.]



It’s too much and not enough, every swipe of Stiles’ tongue sends another shudder of pleasure through Derek’s body. He can barely concentrate on sucking Stiles’ off, and finally gives up trying to keep with the upside down angle, and just  watches Stiles’ massive cock bob in front of him, how it’s caught in Stiles’ panties, nearly bursting at the seams.

“Stiles, I want to touch—”

Stiles makes a pleased noise, and Derek just loses the plot then and there because Stiles is fucking magical with his mouth. His cock rubs up against Stiles’ chest, desperate and aching for friction, and Stiles is relentless with his tongue, eating him out wet and sloppy. Derek forgets everything but the cold floor on his back, Stiles’ body pinning him down, hands holding his ankles apart, Stiles’ mouth a constant, teasing him into oblivion.

“Stiles!” The name is torn from Derek’s lips, as his body tenses for a blissful moment and the orgasm rips through him. He comes and comes, aching with each spurt, spilling all over himself and Stiles’ chest.

Stiles sighs happily, flopping over onto his back next to Derek.

Derek can’t even move. He and his new panties are covered in come, and he’s still trying to catch his breath. He turns to look over at Stiles’ whose face is flushed an attractive pink, hair disheveled, lips red and swollen, come streaked all over his chest. He’s still hard, cock heavy in his panties, precome dripping down the shaft.

Derek reaches for him but Stiles grabs his hand and squeezes it instead.

“But I want you to come,” Derek says breathlessly. “Please.”

“I’m good,” Stiles says, panting a little. “It takes me awhile. I can’t— I fucked myself over masturbating like three times a day when I was a teenager, now I can’t come unless, well, I fuck someone, or if I have like, a fleshlight or something, and it’s, um, a lot, kinda much for a first— first date…”

Derek turns to look at him, at Stiles’ flushed cock, throbbing with arousal, the thick girth of it. Stiles might be the same size— if not bigger— than Derek’s favorite toy, and Derek’s mouth waters just thinking of it inside him. He reaches over and squeezes it with his hand, watching as the tip swells up with another bead of precome. Derek can barely close his hand around the girth, and then he leans over and gets it back in his mouth.

The angle is better this time, and Derek tries his best to fit as much of Stiles’ cock in his mouth as he can, moaning around the mouthful.

“Fuck, you’re amazing, you really don’t have to—”

Derek makes a hum of approval, shaking his head to indicate he doesn’t quite mind, and in fact, he’s fucking enjoying it, the weight of Stiles’ on his tongue, and now Stiles’ hands are in his hair.

“Derek, that feels so good,” Stiles sighs, and then there’s an insistent tugging on Derek’s hair. “But you’d have to do that for like, an hour, and I really—”

Derek lets go of Stiles’ cock and licks his lips. “Fuck me.”

Stiles’ eyes widen. “Derek?”

“I’ve been thinking about it. You finding me in my office, tearing off my clothes and fucking me on my desk. I really want you to.” He stands up and pulls Stiles to his feet, and then kisses the surprised expression off his face. “Is it really that weird?”

“You are aware, that this isn’t normal, right?” Stiles gestures at his cock. “Like, most people look at this and cry. Or run away.”

Derek kisses him again, reassuring. “I’ll show you my toy collection sometime. Believe me, I can take it.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “I want to.”

Stiles’ eyes darken. “Over a desk, you said?” He pushes Derek towards the dresser table, bending him over the edge. “Stay there for me. You look beautiful like that.”

Derek can see Stiles in the mirror, rooting around in the dresser drawers for something, and then comes up with a bottle of lube and a condom. Stiles squirts a generous amount into his hand, coating his fingers with it until they’re shiny with slick.

“Stiles, please just—”

“Wait, gorgeous. Fuck. Can I take a picture of you like this? You just look so delicious.”

“Yes, just—”

There’s the sound of a camera, but not any electronic phone sound Derek recognizes. Instead it’s a heavy click of something else, multiple clicks and whirrs. Stiles’ hand is on his ass, then Derek gasps when a finger pushes in, and another. It feels good, Stiles stretching him out, curling his fingers inside him. He clenches down, eager to show Stiles how ready he is for more, and he gets another finger, filling him up. Derek fucks himself back on Stiles’ fingers, hears the click of the camera, spreads his legs wider, wanting Stiles to see him, how he looks with his backless panties on.

The fingers withdraw. Stiles pulls Derek into a kiss and the camera clicks once more.

It’s set down next to Derek on the dresser with a heavy clunk, and a few undeveloped Polaroids are tossed next to it, right next to Derek’s face. They’re the same kind used for all the snapshots of the models in the photos taped to the dresser mirror.

Derek turns his gaze to Stiles’ reflection. He’s beautiful, skin luminous in the soft glow of the dressing room’s light. His cheeks and throat are a deep red from Derek was kissing earlier, rubbing up against him with his beard. Stiles’ eyes are closed in concentration, and Derek can hear the sound of the condom wrapper.  “XXL” reads the foil, landing next to Derek’s foot.

Derek groans when he feels Stiles’ cock press inside him, achingly slow. The girth is more than he expected, and he bites his lip, waiting for Stiles to start thrusting.

“That was just the tip,” Stiles says breathlessly. “You want more?”

“Please,” Derek says. He’s already hard again, cock aching against his panties, trapped between the dresser’s edge.

“You feel so—” Stiles slumps forward, burying his face in Derek’s neck, and then he pushes all the way in. “Derek,” Stiles sighs, lost in pleasure.

It’s like in Derek’s fantasy, except a thousand times better. In reality, Stiles takes Derek’s hands and interlaces their fingers together. In reality, Stiles is careful with his length, moving arduously slow until Derek is crying out for more, more, and Stiles shushes him with sweet kisses, telling him pacing is crucial and he doesn’t want Derek to get hurt.

Stiles is gentle with it, at least until Derek starts rocking back against him with his hips desperately. And then Stiles grabs Derek by the shoulder and starts fucking him deep, rocking into him in quick, shallow thrusts, until the entire room is filled with the filthy slap of flesh on flesh. The dresser is knocking against the wall, mirror shaking until the photos start falling off, scattering to the floor. The camera shakes precariously and the blurry photos shift until Derek holds all of it down.

Their reflections are moving too quickly in the mirror for Derek to focus on, but what he sees— himself, open mouthed and wanton, Stiles a wild-eyed vision behind him, lost in ecstasy— turns him on like nothing else.

Stiles notices him watching the mirror and smirks, leaning forward and whispering filthy nothings in Derek’s ear; Derek’s never been one for dirty talk before but the way Stiles says gorgeous and beautiful and look how good you’re taking it make him shiver.

Stiles talks when he fucks, makes loud noises of approval, constantly grabs Derek by the mouth for a kiss, like he misses the contact— it makes Derek wonder how it would be like face to face, or if Stiles likes to be fucked too, if he’s just as talkative, and if he still likes to hold hands during sex in other positions. He wants to try them all.

“Derek, you’re so good, wanted you since I first saw you, looked so fucking cute when you were too shy to buy your own underwear, now look at you…”

Stiles’ hand goes from Derek’s hip to his front, and there’s a low noise of approval when he finds Derek’s hard cock again. Stiles takes him in hand, kissing the back of his neck as he strokes Derek off.

Derek rocks back to meet Stiles with every thrust; wanting more. And he get it in spades, Stiles gives it to him deep, until he’s nothing but a worn out mess, forgetting everything but Stiles’ name. He’s coming again but he can’t make sense of it, it’s all just skin and sweat and noise.

Stiles comes abruptly soon after, entire body seizing up and he cries out, falling forward onto Derek’s shoulder.

“You’re amazing,” Stiles whispers, panting. He nuzzles into Derek’s neck, and Derek turns to kiss him.

“You,” is all Derek manages to say with a pleased, sated smile.

The dressing room is a mess, from what Derek can see in the reflection. Boxes of clothes and racks are all shoved everywhere from their tumble on the floor. The photos on the mirror have all fallen off, and only the camera and the photos remain on the dresser from Derek’s haphazard holding on.

The photos are almost done developing, getting clearer by the second. The first is of Derek’s hairy ass in the pink panties, the open heart shape exposing his hole, already dripping wet. The next is Stiles’ pale fingers opening him up, and then one of Stiles smirking, grabbing possessively at his ass.

The last one is Derek’s favorite. It’s a closeup shot of Stiles holding Derek by the chin, pulling him close for a kiss, only their faces visible in the frame. Derek’s eyes are closed, waiting in anticipation, lips parted slightly, and Stiles is watching him, eyes half-lidded with an adoring gaze.

“We’re gonna be good together,” Stiles says happily, admiring the photos.

“I know,” Derek replies.

“Did you just Han Solo me?” Stiles says indignantly.

“Your cock is still inside me,” Derek says, biting back the smile. He hadn’t even considered the Star Wars reference, had just been happy and honestly replying, but he likes it, likes that it implies that he loves Stiles. Will love Stiles. He knows it’s going to happen, that he won’t be able to help falling in love with him.

Stiles eases himself out slowly and grabs towels off a nearby rack, tossing it to Derek and they clean each other up as best they can.

“You did. You tried to Han Solo me,” Stiles insists.

“Do or do not, there is no—”

Stiles snaps the towel at him, laughing as he does. Derek catches it and tosses it aside, catching Stiles’ face in his hands, kissing the laughter right off his mouth.

Yeah. They are gonna be good together.